Take a Bullet
by Pass Crow
Summary: "Tigger took a bullet that was meant for my goddamn head.  That gets answered for."  I don't own them, Kurt Sutter and FX do.  Please don't sue me.  Reviews make me smile.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own them, Kurt Sutter and FX do. Please don't sue me.

Author note: Reviews are good. Really, they make me grin like an idiot. I won't say they'll make me write faster cuz that'd be blackmail. I think I fixed the smooshyness and got the section breaks in. Might be a bit easier to read now.

* * *

"He's fine Gemma." Tig spoke through clenched teeth. His face was pale and drawn, large beads of sweat running down his unshaven jaw. "Got a knock on the head, that's all." Chibs jerked his head in agreement, waving a bloodstained hand towards the door to the Chapel.

"And you?" Tig was laid out on one of the tables, his cut and shirt in a bloody pile on the floor. There was more blood running from a hole just below his ribs. "Jesus Tigger."

"Bullet was a through and through, bleedin's slowin' down." Chibs tossed back a drink from a bottle of whiskey and passed it to the older man. "I've got him until Tara gets here."

"I'm fine Gem." Tig's smile was strained and she could already see the bruises forming against his sallow skin. "I had it under control till the son of a bitch pulled a gun." He guttered a groan as the Scotsman pressed a bandage hard into his side. "Jesus Christ!"

"Quit your whinin', I'm tryin' to keep your insides where they belong. Take a drink and shut it." Gemma stepped closer to the table, indecision freezing her steps as she watch Tig pull the bottle to his lips and swallow quickly.

"Go doll, make sure he's okay for me. I'm good." Tig easily picked the worry off her face and waved his bloodied hands. After draining the bottle he let his head loll, his skull pressing hard into the wood as he watched her walk quickly towards the closed door. "Chibs?"

"I don't know Brother. We need Tara, probably a hospital. There's a lot of blood." He pressed harder against Tig's side, drawing a grunted moan from the other man's chest.

"I need booze. Lots of booze and narcotics." Tig thrashed suddenly, his booted feet slamming hard against the surface that he was stretched out on. "Juice!"

* * *

"Baby." Gemma ran both hands into Clay's cheeks, her fingernails tipping gently into his skin as she examined the purplish welt that was rising against one temple. "You okay?" Without waiting for an answer she crawled into his lap, carefully sliding against his denim clad thighs and cuddling into his chest.

"Fine." Clay wrapped his arms around her, tugging her back tighter than usual. His swollen hands ran her hair, tucking it back off her face. "I told 'em they didn't need to call you."

"Fuck that." She said. Her lipstick added to the color rising across the warm flesh as she kissed the swelling bruise. "You don't hide shit like this from me."

"Tig?" Clay was suddenly aware of the tacky wetness the other man's blood had left on the cuffs of his shirt.

"Chibs has got him." Gemma answered quickly, her fingers soothing the lines of worry on his forehead. "Tara's on the way."

"Good. I'm gonna need Jax and the others to ride up to Tacoma with me." Clay leaned forward, burying his head in her hair. His breath warmed her skin as he sighed and drew comfort. "Tigger took a bullet that was meant for my goddamn head. That gets answered for."

* * *

"Fuckin' sadist." Tig drew a hard pull off the joint that Juice was holding out for him. His face had paled even more, a brittled white against usually tanned skin. Each scruffed hair that lined his jaw seemed a deeper black.

"No pills period. They'll slow your heart down, put you in shock." Chibs snapped. The pile of reddened bandages at his feet had grown and worry was staring to pinch against his dark eyes.

"Fuckin' thing's beating out of my goddamn chest anyway." Marijuana smoke drifted as the older man released a barely held breath. Chibs pressed harder into dusky skin as Tig strangled on a cough, the jerk of his body sending convulsive pain through his torso. "Knock me the fuck out!"

"D'ya want me to hit him?" Juice's eyes were wide as he glanced between the two other Sons. "I could, ya know, hit him and—"

"Did your mother have any children that lived?" Chibs asked. "For fuck's sake—" Tig coughed again, laughter rushing his throat as he let his eyes roll closed. There was a slippery puddle of blood spreading underneath him and he could feel it soaking into his jeans but the discomfort of that was far away. The burning in his stomach was worse, the liquid churning of something not right made his heart pump hard with fear. Fading in and out of consciousness he ignored the now droning conversation between Chibs and Juice, focusing instead on internal clamor and the sinking feeling that he was going to bleed out on a clubhouse table with a drunken Scot and a retarded Puerto Rican arguing over his body.

* * *

"We'll be fine my love." Clay hugged Gemma once more, kissing her hard before sliding one leg over his bike. "I'll call you from Tacoma." She glared at him, her body tight and disapproving as she moved to one side, stepping out of the way of the line of bikes.

"Watch your goddamn ass, Clay." Bikes started all around her, the other members butting out cigarettes and putting on helmets as Clay settled into his saddle. "I mean it." She crossed her arms tight, hugging herself in the cooling air as he worked his hands quickly to loosen the joins before snapping his own helmet straps.

"I'll call you sometime tonight. Watch Tig for me." He pursed his lips and she Gemma leaned in for one last kiss, his beard rasping against her skin. "I love you." He twisted the throttle and let the engine idle higher, sharing a long look with Gemma before he led the other bikes out of the clubhouse parking lot in formation.

"I love you too." Gemma watched him turn the corner before striding back towards the clubhouse.

* * *

"This room is…disgusting. God knows the last time it's been cleaned." Tara glanced quickly around Tig's dorm room, her eyes lingering on the rumpled and obviously dirty black silk sheets bundled at the end of his bed. "He'd be better off staying on the table." Gemma rolled her eyes at the other woman's tone, not seeing anything other than normal guy shit. There were empty liquor bottles and piles of dirty clothing littering the floor but all the garbage seemed to have made it to the trash can and the air smelled more like incense than pussy.

"At least the sex toys are in the closet." She quipped. The younger woman didn't even smile. Tara glanced again at the bed, this time noting the handcuffs that were wrapped around both posts of the footboard.

"I don't even want to think about him having sex Gemma. Ever." She moved farther into the room. Gemma leaned in the doorway smirking at the look of distaste that creased the smooth skin of the other woman's face.

"You're not going to find any corpses under the bed Tara. Clay made him promise after the mess the last one made." Tara's eyes widened and she quickly stepped back moving past Gemma and into the hall. "Jesus Tara, I'm kidding." Gemma laughed. "We'll take him to the house. That way I can keep an eye on him…feed him the pills." Tara breathed half a sigh of relief and closed the dorm room door quickly.

* * *

"He did what?" Tig grabbed his side as he spoke, his voice topping out into a slight head voice. "Stupid fucking—"

"Get out of that bed and I'll shoot you myself." Gemma turned away from the window, letting the shade cords dangle as she shot him a steely look. Sighing he relaxed back into the bed, his fingers white against his bandaged stomach. "Good boy."

"I should be there." Rolling his head harder into the pillow he blew out a breath of irritation. "Someone needs to watch his ass."

"He's got the club with him Tigger. You took your bullet for this month." She settled into the side of the bed, one hand tagging back his sweat stroked hair. "Thank you." When he tipped his head up into her hands she stroked her cool fingers across his forehead. Her forehead crinkled at the heat that was baking from his skin. "Tara's bringing some antibiotics after her shift."

"S'okay. I'm good, doll." The sheet beneath him was damp with sweat but he couldn't find the energy to shift against it but the coolness of her hand was heaven. Tig let everything in him relax, giving himself up to her comfort for a second before opening his eyes and pushing himself up against a pillows. Unaccustomed weakness ran his limbs and there was a nagging disconnect in his head, movement threatening unconsciousness. "I should be in Tacoma."

"Well that's not gonna happen baby." Gemma skimmed the sweat away from his forehead before standing. "Get some sleep." She adjusted the blankets that were pulled high on his chest and moved towards the door.

"I should at least be at the clubhouse." But he was already adjusting himself against the pillows, one hand clamped to his side. Gemma didn't even spare him a look.

"Shut up Tigger."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own them, Kurt Sutter and FX do. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note: What do you think? Lemme know.

* * *

The room made him slightly uncomfortable with its brightness and the subtle scent of lilacs. He was more used to darkness and smoke. Tig glanced at the door Gemma had closed behind her, something paranoid in his brain cataloguing exit scenarios. "Jesus Christ." A breath burst from his chest and his entire body jolted against the mattress. The crinolined body of a porcelain doll was perched on a shelf directly across from the foot of the bed. His gut ached as he rolled to a seated position. A half a dozen aches and pains spread throughout his body joined into the clamor as he stood.

Managing to hold a hunched posture he crossed the room, trying to ignore the way his legs shook and his head swam. With one hand he snagged a corner of the doll's dress, goose bumps breaking out across his skin even as he burned with fever. "Creepy fucking bitch." There was a chair angled into a corner and he dropped the doll against the cushion, stuffing one of the throw pillows on top of it and pressing it down hard. "Stay there or I'll shoot you." As he spoke he reached for his belt, noticing for the first time that he was padding around Gemma's spare bedroom in nothing but wash faded boxers and a plain black tee shirt with the word 'son' emblazoned across his chest. "Well…I'll fucking bite you bitch." He amended.

"Problems?" The door had opened soundlessly and he dipped for his belt again as he turned. Gemma was watching him with amusement. There was a bowl of water in her hand, a washcloth draped over the edge. "Didn't I tell you to stay in bed?"

"Where's my gun? Knife? Clothes?" Something moved at the edge of his vision and he glanced quickly towards the chair where he'd stashed the doll. Gemma's smile widened.

"You gonna gut the doll?" She put the basin of water on the night stand and walked up behind him. "Or shoot her right between her pretty little eyes?" Nudging the pillow aside she picked up the toy, her fingers automatically fixing the puffed dress and unmussing the blonde locks.

"It's not funny. Jesus Gem, get that fucking thing away from me." As soon as she'd picked up the doll he moved backward quickly, ignoring the pull from the stitches Tara had sunk in his stomach and back. She must have seen the sudden paleness that washed his cheeks because she dropped the doll and grabbed his arm.

"It's a goddamn doll not a tarantula Tig, relax."

"I don't mind…tarantulas." He gasped, his eyes tamped tightly closed against the sudden rush of dizziness that whirled the room around him. "Fuckin' dolls are creepy. Unnatural."

"They're toys." Her fingers tightened against his forearm and she led him back towards the bed, nudging him down onto the mattress. Ignoring the pain in his stomach and back he bent forward, letting his head hang as low as he could to stave off the faint that flushed his cheeks.

"Cap guns are toys. Matchbox cars are toys. Dolls are like little creepy dead babies." He kept his eyes closed tight as he spoke. Gemma gave him time, one hand resting lightly against the sweated fabric that covered his back. "A slingshot, now that's a toy." She smiled and rubbed her fingers into shivering muscles.

His breaths were audible, a panted rhythm that he focused on, counting until he was sure he could sit up without passing out or puking. Pale faced he straightened up and palmed sweat off his forehead. "Sit and Spin. Those are toys."

"Better now?" Gemma shifted on the mattress, angling herself so that she could see his face. "Big bad biker done bitching about the dolly?" There were shined bruises of fatigue cresting around his eyes and she could see knuckle lumps leading up into his hairline. Pain had sunk slight lines in the corners of his eyes and down his jaw but the blue of his eyes had cleared and he seemed to be breathing easier. "Take these." Tig examined the pair of small white pills she had shunted into his shaking hands, his eyebrows rose as he glanced up at her. "It's Tylenol." There was a bottle of water on the table and she handed it to him.

"My kids used to hide Barbies in my bed." Tig shivered once, glancing back at the sheet covered mattress as if Skipper and all her pal's had set up shop behind him as he cracked open the water and swallowed the pills. Gemma laughed at the motion.

"Jesus Christ." Still smirking she pulled the washcloth out of the basin she'd settled to the bedside table. "Someday we need to talk about your childhood." Water dripped from between her fingers as she dipped the fabric and then squeezed it, wringing most of the moisture away. "Tara should be here soon, she's bringing a grab bag from the hospital. Some antibiotics, better painkillers." Tig's eyes widened as she held his chin with one hand and used the other to run the washcloth across his sweated cheeks.

"Gem, you don't have to—"

"Clay called, said they'd be in Tacoma sometime tomorrow. They picked up some Nomads so he's sending Juice back our way." The rag washed away a day's worth of sweat and grime, cutting swaths of clean coolness across his skin. "He'll take care of the mess out by the warehouse."

"Goddamn. I totally forgot." He had lulled somewhat but now he straightened and caught against her fingers. "That dead asshole—"

"Is fine right where he is until Juice takes care of it." With one quick move she had him flat on the bed and he had no idea how she had done it. Tig winced slightly, more in anticipation of pain than actual pain. "You're gonna stay right there."

"How'd you do that?" The sheets were cool for the moment an

She smirked down at him. "I'm a mother darlin', we have all kinds of secret tricks." There was something more in her voice, and he squinted at her, noticing for the first time that his eyes were going blurry. Gemma watched him, his face relaxing and his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to hold on to consciousness. "Good night Tig."

"You doped me." His slurred words were incredulous and he tried to sit up. His body wasn't moving, the weight of the world seemed to be pressing him into the bed. "You doped me." As he repeated the phrase his eyes closed, the black of his lashes dark and full against his bruised but pale cheeks. Gemma folded the washcloth and rested it against his forehead, her fingertips pressing the fabric against his eyes gently.

"Bet your ass I did."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own them, Kurt Sutter and FX do. Please don't sue me.

Author's Note: Enjoy. Reviews make me smile.

* * *

"Aw, shit. It's Fix." Half Sack swallowed hard and lurched away from the brush covered body. "Fix Martin's the one tried to kill Clay?" Juice just nodded and continued pulling things out of the large duffle that had been strapped to the back of his bike. "Jesus."

"Clay said to strip him. Keep the vest, burn everything else." There was a pallor against his skin as he pulled a pair of needle nose pliers out of the bag. "Then I'm gonna pull his teeth, then we take care of the body."

"Pull his teeth?" Sack was already struggling with the dead man's clothes. He tugged the leather vest free, glancing at it before dropping it to the ground. The Prospect patches had been stripped from the vest with roughened knife cuts that marred the leather. Juice just nodded. "I don't—"

"No teeth, no dental ID. When we're done with him there isn't going to be any other kind of ID either. Clay wants him gone." When Kip moved down to remove the corpse's boots Juice tightened his grip on the pliers and pulled a hard breath.

"Happy's better at this shit." The leather of Kip's gloves were tacky with blood and his fingers slipped against the complicated buckles and zippers that ran the trendy biking boots.

"Happy knows Tacoma." Juice swallowed again, tossing his head from one side to the other to crack his neck before stooping down to kneel in the dirt. "Let's get this done.

* * *

"He looks like shit." Smoke drifted free with the words as Gemma poured coffee with one hand. She pushed one cup across the counter and pulled the other closer. Tara slung the strap of her bag over one of the dining room chairs and stepped farther into the kitchen. She still carried the padded nylon bag that doubled as a med kit and there was also a small Styrofoam cooler under her arm.

"Well, he got shot Gemma. That tends to make—"

"I've seen Tig shot before. This is different. I think we should take him to a hospital." Gemma pulled another drag off the cigarette before butting it into a cut crystal ashtray. "Goddamn Clay. Just take off and leave this shit for the little women." She tipped a bottle of Bailey's against the rim of her coffee cup, slowly mixing liquor into the bitter liquid.

"I brought some stuff from the hospital, let's try that and see where we are…" She lifted the cooler and let it settle against the counter. "If he's no better tomorrow maybe one of the clinics in Lodi could be persuaded out of reporting a bullet wound."

Gemma sighed but nodded agreement as she cradled the coffee mug in both hands. Casting a look towards the other woman she headed towards the back of the house.

"I gave him two tranks a couple hours ago." She pulled the mug closer to her chest and turned the doorknob. "He was getting ready to climb the goddamn walls. I took them out of his own pocket, he can handle them doc."

"Jesus Gemma! Between blood loss and—" Gemma rolled her eyes at the other woman's words and pushed the door fully open.

"Not a drug alive that could hurt Tig."

* * *

Half Sack pulled his tee shirt up over his face and made a strangled, inarticulate sound as the wind shifted. The smoke that was coming off the body was thick and greasy with a smell somewhere between shit and smoked pork. Juice just took three large steps to one side, his shoulders resting against the outside wall of the warehouse as he cupped his palm around his cigarette.

"Couple more hours." He voice was stilted behind his hand, most of the normal energy faded and flagged. "When it's ash we're supposed to cover it."

"Why would Fix try to kill Clay?" Following the other man's unspoken advice Kip shifted away from the bonfire and leaned into the warehouse. "He was a good kid. Practically born into SOA from what he was sayin' at the last Charter party."

"His old man was the Sergeant at Arms in Tacoma a long time ago." Juice offered the half smoked cigarette to Half Sack but the younger man shook his head and tucked his chin harder so that his shirt was still up over his mouth and nose. "They'll figure it out. We just gotta make him gone." He returned his attention to the greasy fire and tossed the cigarette towards the flames. "Go inside and get some more gas."

* * *

Tara silently finished taking the unconscious man's vitals, her hands quick and sure as she refolded the blood pressure cuff and stashed it on one of the bedside tables. There was a slight seep of blood against the white bandage she'd applied earlier and she peeled it off to inspect the stitches she'd sunk into his side.

"There's a little bleeding…nothing to worry about." Spreading the tape back into his dusky skin she pressed against one shoulder, easily shifting the larger man enough to check the bandage on his back. "A bit more bleeding back here. Nothing out of the ordinary for now but if it gets worse we'll re-evaluate." Tig shifted under her touch, one hand tightening against the sheet that was shoved down around his hips before he relaxed back into stillness. "I've got IV antibiotics for the infection and—" A high pitched trilling made both women jump.

"What the hell?" Gemma turned in the center of the room, her eyes catching on the pile of blood stained clothing she hadn't yet thrown away. Using only her fingertips she riffled through the black denim and pulled a cheap cell phone from a pocket. Her eyes narrowed when she checked the caller ID. "Clay." She dropped the jeans back into a pile and stepped towards the door. "I'll be back."

Tara just nodded and continued her exam, fingers prodding carefully against the bone deep bruise that surrounded the hole in the side of his back.

"Hey doc." Tig's voice made her jump, her hands jerking away from his hot skin as she took a full step away from the bed.

* * *

His eyes were hazed and squinted, the thin slice of blue bright with fever as he smirked at her. "Sorry."

"Tig." The word exploded from her lips as she tried to regain her composure. She couldn't keep her feet from taking another step backwards, totally removing herself from his reach. The smirk widened into a smile. "You're—how are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot." He deadpanned the words, lifting both hands and skimming his sweated hair off his forehead. A wince ran his features as he moved but the shrieking pain from earlier had faded to a more dulled ache. "I gotta go." Tara moved back into the bed as he tried to sit up, her hands catching against his arms and stilling his movements.

"You're not going anywhere." Her hands were cool against his skin just like Gemma's had been, but there was a tremble and shake to her fingers that the older woman had lacked. "I'm going to hook up some IV's, get some fluids and antibiotics going." Her hair fell into her face as she turned and pulled a couple of clear bags of liquid from the cooler she'd brought upstairs.

"Got any morphine in there doll?" Automatic reaction had him moving closer to her, purposely putting himself in her space to make her nervous. "I'll take a bag to go." Tara cleared her throat and subtly retreated from his looming presence. She fumbled with an IV kit before giving him a hard look.

"I've got some vicadin. I'll give you one after I hook up the antibiotics." Dropping the plastic tray on the bed she reached for a pair of gloves. "Lay down." Snapping the latex into her wrists she waved one hand back against the pillows.

"I usually give the orders in the bedroom doc."

"Stop being an ass and do what the lady says Tig." Gemma snapped his cell closed and tossed it into an empty chair as she re-entered the room. "Tacoma says they had nothing to do with it. Why didn't you tell me it was Fix?"

"Tacoma says." Tig repeated slowly ignoring her question. All intimidation and defiance was instantly gone from his form as he settled back into the bed and focused his attention on the older woman. He didn't watch as Tara opened the IV kit and prepared to set the needle in the bend of his forearm. "He shouldn't be there alone Gem. You know that."

"He's not alone. And he's not stupid. The boys are there and they picked up some Nomads on the way. Happy's got his back." Gemma's voice hardened.

"Happy was Tacoma before he went Nomad." The older woman nodded, her eyes fixed on the easy way Tara slipped the needle into his vein and taped the rig solidly against the tanned skin of his forearm. "We don't know he's got Clay's best interest in mind. He was Fix's sponsor." Gemma matched looks with him, the coffee color of her eyes offering him sympathy that he tried to ignore.

"And you were his god father. Didn't stop you from killing him."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own them, Kurt Sutter and FX do. Please don't sue me.

Author's note: It's a bit short but I have most of the next chapter done. Read and review please, reviews make me grin like an idiot. Enjoy.

* * *

"Stand back." Juice hefted the sledge hammer and stepped up to the tarp covered pile. There was still some heat baking up from the ground and it was melting through the thick canvas. "Shit might fly." Half Sack was still backing up when the other man started swinging the sledge. Heat weakened bone smashed with a crunching sound that turned Kip's stomach. He swallowed and watched the other man move methodically around the tarp. With each echoing thump ash and dirt drifted up through the holes in the canvas. "Okay, wrap it and burn it again. When the tarp's ash toss some dirt over it."

"Where're you going?" Sack turned plaintive eyes on the other man. He was cornered as far away from the smoldering canvas as he could get. Juice spared him about half a glance before slinging the sledge down and turning towards the front of the warehouse where they had left their bikes.

"I gotta check in with Gemma. Shit, I almost forgot, gimme that vest." Kip leaned over and scooped up the scuffed leather. Fastidiously he folded it so that the blood was on the inside and covered before handing it to the other man. "Then I got a shitload of research to do." Juice tucked the vest under one arm. "Head to TM when you're finished here, we might have some guard detail tonight." Kip nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly as he watched the other man walk around the corner of the building.

"Prospect shit work." He sighed, scooping up the sledge hammer to return it to the warehouse. Grabbing the empty gas can with his free hand he headed for the open backdoor. Before he was even halfway there his body language had brightened, by the time he stepped inside he was whistling lightly.

* * *

"The hell are we doin' here, brother?" Chibs was speaking before his bike had even coasted to a stop. His sneakers gritted against the gravel that lined the fortified parking lot. "You talked to the VP, I don't see a need for this." The Glasgow in his voice was snapped and stronger than usual.

"I agree. No need to put yourself in there. Let some of us go. If this Fix thing is charter wide—" Happy had heeled his bike onto the kickstand and walked up, his tall body casting a shadow along the pitted road.

"You think it's charter wide?" Clay overrode the other man's rasped voice, flipping his helmet off with one hand, fingers thick and aching on the scuffed black surface. Happy's lips tightened slightly as he considered the question, his dark eyes remaining as emotionless as those of a shark.

"No. I think Fix was high and lookin' to become some kinda modern day Jack McCall." Shrugging he tucked his ands into the leather of his riding jacket. "That's what I think."

"Jack McCall? Who in the bloody hell is Jack—"

"Guy who shot Wild Bill Hickok." Jax spoke over the Scotsman's aggravated voice, the fine stretch of his fingers soothing against the older man's cut. "I'm with Chibs, there's no need to put yourself in the shit."

"Oh, I'm gonna put myself in the shit. We all are. We're gonna sit around that table and have some goddamn assurances." Clay snapped. He shoved his helmet back on, settling it over the blue bandana that covered his forehead. "I find out this was anything other than some junkie kid with dreams of immortality—" He snapped his hands into fists, the knuckles bulging and snapping. The smile he turned on the other men was cold. "There ain't gonna be a Tacoma Charter anymore."

* * *

Tara was silent as she placed the extra IV bags of antibiotics in the refrigerator. Gemma had followed her out of the room and down the stairs and was now settled at the dining room table, her legs drawn up underneath her as she leaned sideways in one of the chairs. The younger woman stalled in the kitchen, sorting through her medic bag and pulling out the things she thought Gemma would need overnight.

"I can hear you thinkin' from here little girl." The snick of a lighter underscored Gemma's words and seconds later the acrid tang of cigarette smoke tainted the air. Tara sighed into it, wishing quickly that Jax was the one smoking in the other room. "You're thinkin' that Tigger is even more of a monster than you thought."

"He shot his godson." Finally turning away from the counter Tara moved to the table and took the chair opposite Gemma's. Without thinking she mimicked the other woman's posture and pulled a hand through her hair, freeing the dark strands from the tie that held them. "That's pretty monstrous."

"He jumped in front of a bullet meant for my old man's head. Nothin' monstrous in that." Gemma savored the cigarette, slowly pulling the drags deep into her lungs and letting the nicotine warm through her blood.

"He didn't have to kill—"

"Bullshit." The older woman's voice sharpened and her eyes narrowed. Though she didn't move against the chair her posture seemed more alert, more defensive. Tara started to raise her hands to show that she was defenseless but she cut off the motion, settling her palms to the table instead. "You don't take a shot at Clay Morrow and walk away from it."

"He's not God, Gemma." Frustration finally tipped her voice louder, an argumentative tone snapping through the words.

"Wrong, honey." A predatory smile turned Gemma's lips and she leaned across the table, her body lithe and easy with the motion. "He is god. To those boys—those men, he is god. He is their god and Tig is the hand of that god." Gemma's placed one of her hands over one of Tara's, her neatly manicured nails ticking into the shined table top. "There's nothing monstrous about loyalty. And Tigger is a loyal Son."

"He's a murderer." Tara replied stubbornly, carefully but firmly removing her hand from underneath Gemma's. With a smirk the older woman leaned back to her side of the table, settling back into her chair.

"And Jackson isn't? Tell me he's never come to you bloody." Tara started slightly, her smaller framed body jerking as if the other woman had slapped her. She blinked quickly, trying to formulate a counter argument as Gemma stood.

"That's different. Jax is different." Gemma shook her head slightly, her eyes on the way the other woman had paled.

"You keep tellin' yourself that, sweetheart."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, Kurt Sutter and FX do. Please don't sue me.

**Author's Note:** Wow, sorry for the delay. Between Christmas, getting my brother to the airport in a blizzard and off to Australia, then house sitting into the New Year and worrying that he was drowning in the flooding over there...it's been a weird beginning to the new year. And there was some alcohol in there adding to the mayhem. But here's the next chapter, it's a little longer and hopefully not as forced as it seems to me. Let me know. Reviews make me smile.

* * *

The sun was barely setting when Half Sack dumped the last shovelful of ashed bone and burned tarp into a messily dug hole. Using the side of his boot he shoved a garbage bag full of old papers and trash gathered from the warehouse into the hole and lit it with a match. Leaning on the shovel he watched the garbage burn, hoping that the mix of ashes and sediment would confuse any possible ID even farther.

"Not that anyone's gonna find it out here." He mumbled aloud, glancing around at the clearing. Only the warehouse detracted from the isolation. There was a long and winding dirt road that led almost four miles back to the main highway but that was it. No other houses, no other people, no reason for anyone to go snooping around. Except for the guns. With an almost involuntary motion he glanced towards the door, making sure he'd chained and locked it. There wasn't anyone assembling right now so everything was buttoned up tight.

Half Sack's forehead had furrowed as he thought everything through, letting his mind wander while the fire burned down to embers but now his face relaxed into a half smile. He kicked at the dirt, returning it to the hole and burying the still smoking ashes. The job was quickly done but thorough. Scuffing his heels he tamped the sandy soil, trying to even it up with the surrounding ground but it was nearly impossible to make a freshly dug hole look like much of anything except what it was.

"Rest in peace, Fix. You seemed like a nice enough guy." Sack tipped his head slightly before shrugging. "Shouldn't have taken a shot at Clay though. That was stupid." Turning away he slung the shovel over his shoulder and walked it to the small shed that bulged off the back of the warehouse.

* * *

Tig's eyes were open but unfocused as he stared at the fluid that dripped slowly into the clear plastic vial Gemma had rigged to one of the bedside lamps. The vial drained into a tube that in turn drained into his arm but every time he tried to glance down that far his eyes drifted closed and he had to fight to open them again. So he stared at the drip, counting them in some foggy half language that was almost English but all narcotic. He'd been here before, in the medicated twilight that was awakened sleep, had an address and visited regularly.

A breathless laugh moved his lips, the sound barely vibrating the air above his chest. His thoughts were taking some of those delightful sidesteps away from reality, stretching into taffy like inconsistency that numbed against the physical and emotional pain of the day. The fever that shook alternating chills and sweats through his body only added to the medicinal high and he relished the release. Because his torso ached like a motherfucker and the bruises and scrapes from the fight that had come before were tuning up their bitch song.

But the thing that hurt the worst was the image that played over and over in his head, twisted and warped by the drugs, but not erased. The muzzle of his gun pressing into fair hair. The boy's obviously vacant eyes fixing on his, fading to a hazed awareness as he tightened his finger against the trigger. The blood that sprayed the wall. How the boy had fallen, like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut.

* * *

Happy was the first one inside the Tacoma Clubhouse, angling himself in front of both Clay and Jax just before they stepped through the door. He scanned the room in one breath, automatically putting himself between the men from SAMCRO and the Tacoma Sergeant at Arms.

"Hey Koz." He didn't need to see the movements behind him to know that Chibs and the others were taking similar actions, circling around Clay even as they traded greetings with the rest of the Tacoma charter. "Been a long time, brother."

"Hey Nomad." The blond man smiled and offered his hand, casually letting his cut ride up to expose his empty shoulder holster. "How do you like it out there on the road?" Happy shrugged and relaxed slightly, finally glancing back as Bobby let the door close behind them. "You gonna take your hand off that pig sticker you got hidden in the small of your back now?" Happy grinned wide and white, a predator's smile.

"Nah."

* * *

Juice eased his bike into Gemma and Clay's driveway, palming off the throttle and letting the engine die away before leaning to one side and toeing down the kickstand. He pulled of his helmet and let it dangle from one handlebar as he grabbed the folded leather of the dead man's cut. Gemma had the door open and the porch light blazing before he mounted the steps.

"Hey Gemma." He smiled wide as he settled into a comfortable stance in front of her. "Clay said Tig wanted this." He pressed the folded cut into her hands. "And he wanted me to tell you that everything is covered…Piney and I will open TM in the morning, we'll spread out the work, call in some friends to cover for Tig and the other guys."

"Don't let Piney near the computer, you do the paperwork if I don't make it in…last time that old man took the desk he erased half our customer records." Juice laughed into the words, his mohawked head nodding.

"Got it. And Sack'll be over later to keep an eye on you guys…Clay's orders." He added when Gemma's look darkened towards annoyed. "He's just gonna hang out front, keep an eye on things."

"Nothin' to keep an eye on. Kid's dead." Her fingers tucked tighter into the bloodstained cut. "Unless Clay thinks—"

"I dunno what Clay thinks. He's handing out orders over the cell and I'm just passin' them on." Juice waved both hands in front of his chest. All I know is that Sack'll be over when he's done at the warehouse and I'll be at the Clubhouse all night if you need anything." Juice passed her an unedited smile, his face dropping age with the gesture.

"Clay also tell you to keep his old lady in the dark?" Most of her irritation feigned in deference to the slightly goofy look that had taken hold of his face.

"Nope." Still smiling Juice shrugged easily and turned back towards the street. "He just told me to clean up the mess, check in with you, give Tig the leather and keep money comin' in to TM." He went quickly down the steps, his boots ratcheting against the concrete.

"Jesus Christ, how long does he plan on being gone?" Again Juice shrugged. He threw one leg over his bike and settled his helmet atop his head. "Till shit gets done I guess. We got it Gem. Call if you need anything. Or if Tig needs anything." She rolled her eyes at the way flamboyant way he started the bike, revving the engine so that it rattled against the houses up and down the street. She couldn't help casting a quick look around the shadow filled yard.

* * *

"I dunno what's in there…I just grabbed his run bag." Half Sack handed the bag over and shifted from foot to foot on the doorstep, nervous energy making his words fast and the jittered motion of his hands even faster. Gemma smiled at him and stepped back, opening the door wider and motioning for the young man to follow her into the house.

"Jesus, probably just condoms and bullets in here." She went directly to the dining room, slinging the bag on the table as she passed through and into the kitchen. "Sit down." Half Sack pulled out one of the chairs and slumped at the table, his elbows pressing hard into the wooden surface as he shoved his fingers into his messy blond hair.

"He okay?" He asked as he leaned back in the chair, propping both front legs up off the ground. Gemma's hand was gentle but firm as she pressed into his shoulder, knocking the chair back to the floor even as she slid a plate in front of him.

"He's fine. Eat." She crossed around behind him and tugged at the zipper of Tig's run bag, opening it and sorting the contents out onto the table. To her surprise everything inside was carefully packed and organized. The same look of bemusement crossed Half Sack's face as he pulled the plate she'd given him close, tucking his body over it and quickly disposing of the food.

There was an entire set of clothes, black denim jeans folded small with boxers, socks and a faded western style shirt tucked into the middle of the fold. A small black pouch turned out to contain a full bathroom kit, including the expected condoms. "I'll be goddamned." Gemma set the ditty bag to one side. "This is more organized than Clay's." Sack just shrugged and continued making the sandwich disappear. His eyes widening as he swallowed a half chewed mouthful of bread and cold cuts. Gemma rolled her eyes at the adolescent way the young man pounded down the food, his grimy hands pressed hard into the soft white bread.

"Military. It's something you learn quick." His thin body settled back in the chair as he finished the food, unselfconsciously sticking at his fingertips. Gemma had turned her attention back to the bag and was pulling the last few items from the bottom. There were two novels rubber banded together with a creased envelope poking out from between them. "Probably looks a lot like mine. Neither of us has an old la—wife to pack for us like Clay." Sack's cheeks flushed red beneath reddish blond scruff.

"Old lady isn't a bad word Kip. I'm not going to take offense." She smiled at him and he dropped his eyes quickly.

"I just…you're not old." There was a moment of silence while he swallowed convulsively, trying to think of something less awkward to say. Gemma continued to smile as she watched him glance quickly around the room. "There's some talk. About Tig. About what happened out there."

"Yeah?" Gemma undid the elastic that held the books together and shuffled through the bills that were in the envelope before glancing at the worn and scuffed spines. "Like what?" With knowing fingers she slipped the pages, ruffling through both books. To her surprise there were no spaces in them, no pages cut to make a convenient stash for a gun or pills.

"That he just let the kid beat up on him, didn't really fight back till Fix pulled the gun." Half Sack fiddled uncomfortably for a second, fingertips picking at a fray of string on the sleeve of his shirt. "Until he aimed at Clay." There was uncertainty in his voice, confusion that probably had something to do with his image of the SAMCRO Sergeant at Arms.

"Really? That doesn't sound like Tig." Gemma settled the books back inside the bag, carefully snugging the worn covers down against the handkerchief wrapped Glock she hadn't taken from the bottom. "Sounds like the Son's rumor line might be adding some drama to this little farce."

"Well…I don't get how Fix coulda lumped Tig that way, Tig's…" He let his voice trail off and shrugged. "I dunno. Just seems like he'da shot first." Gemma just watched him, ratcheting up his discomfort with a cool gaze. Fingertips tapping on the table randomly he watched Gemma return everything to Tig's run bag, carefully tucking everything inside so that the zipper would close evenly.

"Maybe he was making sure it wasn't some kind of mistake." Gemma finally offered as she lifted the strap of the bag and let it settle into one of the chairs. "The boy was family."

"Not anymore." For a second the young man's voice hardened to match his eyes and Gemma saw the man he would become. "There weren't any patches on his cut."

"No." She agreed quietly, one hand patting against his shoulder. "There weren't."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own them, Kurt Sutter and FX do. Please don't sue.

Author's Note: Reviews make me smile. Enjoy.

* * *

"Clay, I swear to you—" The Tacoma president shifted into uneasy silence when Clay's steeled gaze rolled and pinned him.

"You better. What the hell was that little shit doing?" Clay had leaned back in his own chair, one hand lingering on the polished table top as the other tapped the cherried end of his cigar against the in ashtray. Tacoma's chapel was packed with men in leather, most of them big dangerous men. Kozik was cornered between his president and his VP and Clay was pretty much surrounded by his crew.

"We stripped his patches almost a year ago, I told him to get his head straight, lay off the needle…he dropped outta sight less than a month later. No contact." The other president shrugged slightly and reached for the pack of cigarettes in his cut. He would have had to have been blind to miss the slight tensing of muscles from the Charming Charter. "Jesus Christ Clay. This is shit. How about a little trust?"

"Tacoma took a shot at my head."

"No! Fix Martin took a shot at your head. He wasn't Tacoma. One of his sponsors is standing at your shoulder, why don't you ask him?" The Tacoma president waved a hand towards Happy before flaring his lighter against the tip of the cigarette. "Ask him how it was pretty much a goddamn forgone conclusion that the little prick was too fucked up to ever get a top rocker. He got a shot because of who his father was." Clay shot a look towards Happy, who nodded slightly.

As if on cue the tension in the room relaxed slightly. Jax settled more comfortably in his chair and lit a cigarette, easily passing the pack over his shoulder to Opie. Bobby gave Chibs a wordless look and leaned back against the door while the Scotsman removed his hands from inside his cut, fingers sliding comfortingly against the sheathed knives before falling to his thighs.

"Okay." It was only one word but it soothed against the gathered men even more. Clay sucked the blue gray smoke of his cigar and let it trail from his lips. "Who profits from me getting dead?"

"That's a long list." Jax snorted from his side of the table. "Starting with Darby."

"Why Darby?" Bobby shifted his bulk against the uncomfortable chair. "There's gotta be at least ten other guys gunning for your—"

"Meth." Opie's voice was quiet and steady, an almost missed break of speech. "Fix is a needle freak. Darby's a dealer. Maybe Fix worked up a little debt—"

"And Darby aimed him at Clay. Goddamn it." Chibs interrupted, his hands going unconsciously back to his knives. "Aryan Bastard."

* * *

"I don't get you." Tig blinked into her voice, his lids heavy and gummed with dried tears and eye gunk. "I really don't. And I've known you for years." Groaning he pulled himself awake, uneasily shifting against sweat wet sheets. He palmed against his eyes, rubbing hard as he turned his head on the pillow. The cushioned chair that had been at the other end of the bed was pulled up to the head and angled to one side. Gemma was lanked out in it, her crossed ankles resting against the mattress. Tig widened his eyes, grimacing a bit as he drew her into clearer focus.

"Huh?" His throat was dry and the word crackled slightly. Turning slowly he realized that the IV lines that had been running into his arm were gone leaving behind a Band-Aid and a spreading bruise. "Time's it?"

"About three." Gemma stretched slightly, ruffling the pages of the book she'd been reading before tossing it to him. "To Kill a Mockingbird?" He palmed against the paperback, sliding it down against the blankets as so that he could swing his legs to one side.

"Just something to read if I'm holed up somewhere." As he swung up to a sitting position the room shifted, everything rolling and gray in his vision. Tig just hauled breath and tightened his grip against the sheet until the dizziness passed. "Clay back?"

"It's just not something I'd expect one of my boys to have in a run bag." Gemma shifted her feet to the floor and stood, offering her arm to the seated man. "Penthouse Letters or a skin mag? Yeah. To Kill a Mockingbird and a book of plays? No." Tig pushed himself up without her help and straightened, noting that both the dizziness and the nausea faded to a dull roar faster than they had the last time. Even the pain had steadied into something almost manageable.

"Gem, I need to know if Clay—"

"He's in Tacoma. They think Darby might've used Fix." Gemma lowered her arm but remained at Tig's side as he shifted slowly across the carpeted floor. He paused, bright blue eyes flicking to hers.

"They? Goddamn it. He can't just take Tacoma's word. Jesus, them pointing us to Darby is like fucking—"

"Which is why Juice is at the clubhouse tracking Tacoma's every move for the last year or so. He's not stupid Tig." Gemma moved around him and pushed open the door to the hallway. "He's keeping the Nomads with him until he gets back to Charming and he's got Kip outside keeping an eye out."

"Half Sack." Tig planted his right hand against the bandage in his side and straightened himself up taller. "I feel totally secure now, Half Sack's keeping an eye out." Sarcasm trolled his voice as he moved farther across the landing toward the open bathroom door.

"He's a good kid." Gemma disagreed, stalling and turning towards the stairs. Tig reached the bathroom and leaned into the doorjamb, sweat breaking his hairline from the short walk.

"He's a Prospect." Tig corrected quickly. "He's a douchebag until he's patched…then he'll just be a stupid bastard." He smirked, his still pale skin coloring faintly.

"You're all heart Tigger." She rolled her eyes and started down the stairs, her heels muted on the carpet.

"Don't I know it."

* * *

"I dunno. Nothing's popping." Juice hunched over his laptop, beer in one hand and cell in the other. He thumbed the speakerphone button and leaned the phone against the computer screen so that he could tap a few keys. "A couple of recent arrests for Fix, one OD and court ordered 90 day stint…"

"I want you to check all the guys in the charter out…bank accounts all that shit. Whatever you can find." Jax's voice was tinny and pitched through the speaker of the cheap pre paid. "The president denied at the table, but…I don't know…it just doesn't feel right." Juice nodded automatically as he hacked his way closer to the records Jax wanted.

"I'm on it. You guys heading back anytime soon? Gemma's—"

"I'll bet she is. This is Clay's show. He wants to talk to Fix's ma, see if she knows anything…after that? Who the hell knows?" A burst of music fouled the line followed by male laughter. "Keep on it. I'll call ya tomorrow."

"Are you guys having a party?" Juice's voice notched up slightly, his fingertips leaving the keyboard as he stared at the dark screen of the pre paid. "Shit man." Jax just laughed at the wistful tone and ended the call. With a heartfelt sigh Juice thumbed off the phone and tossed it onto the bar. "Totally not fair." He settled one elbow against the wood and grabbed a fresh beer, fitfully spinning the cap to the floor. "Look this up Juice, find that…we're at a charter party getting our dicks sucked but you just hop on the computer…" He swallowed against the beer and flicked a hand against his iPod sending music thundering through the sound system. He was still grumbling as he leaned nearer the bar and settled his hands back to the keyboard but there was a slight smile on his lips as he pulled up the window and started typing, the clatter of the keys all but inaudible over the music.

* * *

"Keep an eye on him." Jax shoved the cell into his pocket and turned a look towards Opie. "I've got…stuff to do." Even white teeth flashed in his smile as he clapped a hand to the other man's shoulder.

"I know who you've got to do." There was a wry smile nearly hidden in the dark beard. "Go ahead brother, I'll make sure his big head stays safe…little head is his own problem." Jax just laughed and turned away, quickly catching the eye of the stacked brunette that had been eyeing him all night.

"Not an image I want." The fair haired man patted Opie's shoulder again, his fingers tightening into the leather before pulling away and gesturing towards the brunette. "Anything comes up, you know where I'll be."

"I know where that blonde over there wants you." Opie leaned against the wall, one booted foot slinging up and bracing against the rough wood. "They all want the VP."

"The more the merrier." Jax laughed, crooking a finger at the blonde as well. Opie shook his head and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, his fingers were quick on the lighter and he jetted smoke through his nose to linger in the already stilted air.

The thick leather of his riding jacket was heavy and he slipped off, shrugging his shoulders before sliding his cut back on. As always the music was too loud, a thumping beat that was more country than rock, the twanged voices of the singers drilling like silver wire through his nasal passages. He tugged at his collar, using his free hand to undo the top two or three buttons of his flannel shirt.

"Hey. Want a drink?" One of the Tacoma sweet butts leaned into his side, her body pressing fully into his as she turned a pouted look up at him. "Something to eat? Anything?" There was a certain lewdness to the last offer, her body shifting in what could almost be a random movement but wasn't.

"Take a beer." With the quiet pronouncement he shifted her off of him, one arm gently but firmly moving her back a step. The woman pouted slightly but hurried towards the bar to get him his drink, knowing that there would be plenty of takers eventually. Opie watched as she threaded her way lithely through the crowded room. The scene was familiar, Chibs tossed out on a couch with his pants off but his boots on, Bobby half lost in a larger than usual framed red head. Even the mingled smell of pot and cigarette smoke seemed recognizable.

Still smiling slightly Opie pulled a breath and cast a covert glance towards his president, eyes sliding carefully over the small brunette that was situated in the older man's lap. Somehow Happy had managed to install himself within a ten foot range of the SAMCRO President and while he was otherwise occupied by his own bevy of female admirers his dark, watchful eyes snapped warning to any Tacoma member who drifted within a range he deemed unacceptable.

"Here you go honey, sure I can't do anything else for you?" Once again the woman cast a fully loaded glance along Opie's body before handing him the cold beer. He made sure his wedding ring tinged the glass as he took the bottle, knowing that it wasn't necessarily a deterrent that held much weight within these walls but offering it nonetheless.

"I'm good." Giving her on last smile he turned away again, casting another searching look over the room. Nothing seemed out of place, well, everything was out of place but in a way he was used to. The drugs and the sexual activity were known and accepted; the way bodies sprawled across every available surface, barely anyone bothering to seek the privacy of the dorms. Opie settled in, adjusting the dig of his shoulders into the wall as he nursed the beer and lit another cigarette.


End file.
